Rediscovery
by vampirealchemist13
Summary: Harry needs time to rediscover himself, but in the year 1997, he just can't do it. This time, Hogwarts takes things into her own hands to help a special boy who needs to remember who he is. Parts of sixth and seventh book did not happen.
1. Prologue: According to Plan

**A/N:** Welcome to my brand new story...that has no name. I've been reading a lot of 'Harry travels back in time' stories and I felt that, rather than do a pairing of some sort, this should just be about Harry and his path to discover himself. When I figure out a title, I'll rename it, but until then, it's New Story...sorry for the lack of creativity. Please review; I'm not sure if I'm going to continue, but another chapter or two will go up before I decide, so your reviews are crucial at this point. I also haven't finished Colors of the Wind yet, so I'll probably alternate the two...if you're a loyal reader of that story, I'm sorry, but I promise, it will be updated much more regularly than previous. Anyways, enjoy the Prologue!

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**Prologue: According to Plan**

He couldn't remember the last time he had really smiled, and, as he watched the landscape roll by, he wished desperately someone could help him. Six years ago, he had discovered he was not only a wizard, but one destined to destroy the Dark Lord Voldemort; quite a lot to take in when you're an eleven-year-old that's been tormented your entire life by the only family you have left.

To him, it had seemed like a fairytale, as real as a dream and untouchable by someone as normal as him.

When he arrived at Hogwarts that first year, made his first friends and some new enemies, he had finally started to believe there was no joke to the whole magic thing; it was real and he wasn't dreaming. Everything seemed brighter and bolder than before; the sun shone twenty times brighter and grass had never looked so green. He didn't see the world for what it was; it was like a dream brought to life.

By the end of the year, he realized reality, even dreamlike reality such as Hogwarts, has problems; every rose has a thorn. The first meeting with Voldemort face-to-face made him realize he had more dangerous enemies than Draco Malfoy and the Slytherin Squad.

But it was still better than the Dursleys'.

Second year progressed much the same until the misunderstanding of who exactly Slytherin's heir was mucked the rest of it up. His friends stood by him, though, and he got through the year. Slowly, he was beginning to realize he was either going to have to deal with constant abuse from the Dursleys or moments of danger that cropped up more often than those of fun and safety.

Danger always seems more exciting than fun activities, though, right? They also tend to be more costly.

After all, hadn't his losses of Sirius and Dumbledore proved as much?

His summer had been comprised mainly of getting everything ready for the stroke of midnight on his birthday when he could apparate to the Burrow. The rest was spent dueling with different Aurors that happened to stop by, keeping his skills up to par.

_Not one good thing happened over break_ he thought miserably to himself. Sure, he had received proof of Snape's innocence, but he could tell no one, lest it get back to Voldemort. Not even Ron and Hermione could know.

On his birthday, in addition to multiple gifts, Harry had received a letter and a corked phial with a strand, a memory, inside. The letter went on to explain that Dumbledore was already dying from touching Gaunt's ring, a mistake he had made in a moment of weakness at finally finding a Horcrux. The phial, he learned, contained two memories. One was of the headmaster instructing Snape to kill him if Draco could not, including a horrified Snape when presented with his instructions.

Harry could not bring himself to believe that anyone, even a spy such as Severus Snape, could fake revulsion that genuine.

The other memory strand contained every piece of knowledge needed to successfully learn Occlumency. It seemed that since he could no longer teach the boy, he was giving him the end result and praying it worked; luckily enough, it did. Harry had not had a single vision since he began properly occluding his mind.

But proving Snape innocent didn't bring Dumbledore back. He had lost his friend, his mentor, his father figure, and it hurt him more than he cared to think about. Nothing could make him smile anymore.

Ron and Hermione had long since learned that trying to make him smile did nothing and did what they could, staying by his side, helping him with homework, inviting him for a bit of flying or a round of Wizards' chess, but he went through the motions now; coming back to Hogwarts hadn't even been his choice. When McGonagal heard he planned to give up his education to go on some half-baked adventure that Dumbledore had assigned, she demanded that he return.

He planned to leave at Christmas after gathering the proper information on where to find the other Horcruxes, but our things never go according to plan, do they?

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**A/N:** I'd love to know what you think! My little drabbles at the end like my other story probably won't start until a tad later, and I don't know my chapter names yet, so it'll be a little different.

X's and O's,

_VampireAlchemist_


	2. Chapter One: The Final Battle

**A/N:** So this chapter is basically a bunch of segments from the start of term to the final battle. I didn't want another 'Harry has just defeated Voldemort before getting sent back' so I actually wrote out the last battle and all the stuff leading up to it. Each segment is only a few lines, but enough to get the point/reason across for each, I hope. Still working on a name that doesn't have the words 'time' 'travel' or both in it. Some ideas are: _Getting to Know Me, Who Am I?, Rediscovery, _or_ All I Needed Was A Little Help_. Odds are the title will be one of those; you can send ideas if you want, but don't be disappointed if I don't use them.

Anyways, enjoy the first chapter!

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_**Chapter One:**_** The Final Battle

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**

"Bloody great to be back, don't you think so, mate?" It was obvious Ron wanted a response, but Harry just didn't feel like talking.

"I thought Bill's wedding was quite lovely," Hermione commented. "I'm glad there it all went off without any problems."1

Still no response from Harry came. Multiple shouts of the house names came from the hat in the center of the room, but Harry paid no attention to the first years, even if they sorted into his house.

He looked over to the Slytherin table and was surprised to feel relief at seeing a head of bright blonde hair. It really wasn't father was such an evil git, and it was really about time the stupid house prejudices ended. Malfoy's true colors came out when he refused to kill Dumbledore, despite the impending punishment from Voldemort. In Harry's book, the ex-junior Death Eater had come to his senses, and if he was willing to fight on the right side now, it was alright by him.

Dumbledore would have died anyways, and no Death Eater invasion would have prevented that.

When the blonde's eyes locked on his, the two shared a brief nod of understanding; all was not forgiven, but now was no longer the time to settle scores. Their petty feud could wait until the nightmare was over.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look when they noticed him looking at Malfoy; how could they know Snape was innocent and Malfoy was not at fault? Harry certainly couldn't tell them.

Scowling, he looked back to his plate, waiting for McGonagal to signal the food to appear. Keeping secrets from them was the last thing he wanted, but Snape had put his life in Harry's hands; how could be betray that trust?

Harry was realizing he didn't know who he was anymore. The old Harry, first-year Harry, would have never lied outright to his friends, allowed them to hate an innocent person. Well, more innocent than they believed, anyways. The old Harry would have trusted his friends to help him through the nightmare.

Harry was beginning to feel he wasn't himself, and not in the traditional sense. There was no feeling in his head making him feel out of place. He just couldn't feel the things that had made himself him before.

Defense Against The Dark Arts no longer interested him, nor did flying on his broom. Everything that had brought him comfort over the last six years lost its appeal.

Since Dumbledore had gone, he didn't know who he was. The old man had a way of letting you know who you were with one look, like those damned twinkling eyes knew who you were and told you. Harry had never felt insecure or confused around Dumbledore, unless, of course, he was talking about socks or earwax.

Suddenly, the openness of the Great Hall was suffocating. As the new Headmistress sat down and food appeared, Harry jumped from his seat to find a private sanctuary where he could be alone and be himself, whoever that was.

Someone would come looking for him; he was sure of it. Hogwarts, though, had always held a special place within her walls for him and he knew she would help to hide him from those he didn't want to find him, which was everyone at this point.

A door appeared on the third floor and he barred himself inside, sitting upon a desk in a far corner. He didn't cry. All his tears had been spent on Dumbledore, and Harry didn't feel his body could produce anymore even if he wanted to.

"I wasn't ready," he whispered to himself. "I wasn't ready for you to leave yet, Albus."

**

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**

The start of term was uneventful. First years struggled to find their way to classes, most felt the need to gawk at Harry when they passed him, and students complained about homework on the first day back, as usual.

Harry Potter thought nothing of it anymore. His focus was purely on improving his skills and locating the last Horcruxes. The list he'd made remained etched on the inside cover of every book he owned, mocking and reminding him of his unfinished duty.

_Nagini_

_Something of Gryffindor or Ravenclaw_

_Hufflepuff's Cup_

_Slytherin's Locket_

_**TMR Diary**_

_**Gaunt's Ring**_

_Harry Potter_

There was no way he could think of to remove the Horcrux inside himself without dying, which was why he poured over books in the library every night until Madame Pince kicked him out. Somehow, he just knew there was a book about soul separation in the library.

It wasn't until a week of searching had passed that he realized why he couldn't find anything.

Soul separation was a Dark Art. Wouldn't any information pertaining to it be in the Restricted Section.

"Madame Pince." He addressed the librarian firmly, his tone implying he was not leaving until he got what he came for.

"Yes, Mister Potter?"

"I would like a request form with all books pertaining to soul separation written on the name line." The woman was flabbergasted.

"Mister Potter, that is a Dark Art and I have a hard time believing you will find a teacher to sign such a request." He raised an eyebrow.

"Then there is no reason to not give me the request form, correct? Seeing as a teacher needs to sign with their magical signature, I cannot forge anything, so where is the harm? Please put the title of any books with the information on a request form." Unable to determine if the tone he was using was mocking and insolent or polite yet patronizing, she sighed and handed him the parchment.

"Good luck in your endeavor, Mister Potter."

"Thank you." He made it no further than a yard past the library door when a crippling pain erupted in his scar. Blocking Voldemort's visions had not stopped their bond, the reason, Harry had recently discovered, being their soul connection.

The madman was pleased with something. It seemed his plans were beginning to fall into place, and, because he had to block his mind from Voldemort's to protect Snape, Harry had no idea what those plans were.

Or how to stop them.

**

* * *

**

Day by day, the pain got worse. It seemed Voldemort was gaining more and more of an advantage every day while Harry made little to no progress. The Headmistress, to the surprise of Madame Pince, had signed Harry's request, understanding his need for the books, but he had found nothing to help him.

Things were beginning to look hopeless, though that was hardly different from anything else lately, Harry thought with a grim smile.

Still not a real one, though.

**

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**

October 29 was a strange day.

First, he started seeing things. Every time he turned a corner, he saw the wavering image of James or Lily Potter. Sometimes it was Sirius, sometimes Dumbledore, but as soon as he recognized them, they disappeared.

Then, Remus said he would be at Hogwarts the next day to give Harry something important, but the wolf admitted that he had no idea what it was.

And as he fell asleep, ignoring Ron's loud snores, his scar blasted with pain, but only long enough for Voldemort to cackle one thing.

_On Halloween, Potter, you will die._

Harry didn't sleep well that night.

**

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**

The next morning, as soon as Harry remembered the message, he ran for the Headmistress' office. He realized he didn't know what McGonagall's password would be, but, taking a guess, he whispered the former Headmaster's name and the gargoyle sprang to life.

"Professor, it's Voldemort! He's going to attack on Halloween!" After five minutes of pounding, he realized she might be asleep; it was early after all. Throwing caution to the wind, he gathered as much magical energy as he could and pointed his wand at the door.

_"BOMBARDRE!" _The door blew to bits and Harry took notice of Rufus Scrimgeour sitting opposite the Professor; belatedly, Harry realized there had only been a silencing charm.

Once he was inside, Harry waved his wand, casting a simple _'reparo'_ before turning to face the stunned woman.

"Mister Potter, I've no idea how you managed to get past the gargoyle much less destroy a door warded by Albus before he…well…no matter, you should not be here!" She looked furious.

"Professor, Voldemort," she shuddered, "broke through my Occlumency shields, something that causes him as much pain as it does me. He did it to tell me he's coming." The color drained from the two elder faces.

"This Halloween, Hogwarts will host the final battle."

**

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**

"Moony!" Harry had been waiting in the Main Hall for the wolf since his meeting with McGonagal, pacing. If McGonagal hadn't forced him to come back, he might have been able to at least get rid of a few Horcruxes. With this many, even giving himself up without a separation spell would allow Voldemort to return.

"Harry, it's been awhile." Remus had only visited the Burrow once, seeing as he was on "official Order business." "I can't stay long, but someone I knew in my youth told me I was to deliver this to you on October 30 of your seventh year. I trusted this man with my life, so I think it important that I deliver this as promised."

Remus held out a large package encased in a green light. Hesitantly, Harry touched the box. Immediately, the green light dispersed as though recognizing him, and the lock on the front clicked open. On top of several wrapped items lay a thick letter with his name and a giant 'READ ME' note.

"I'm not supposed to be here when you open it," Remus whispered in wonder at the sight. "He told me to tell you to go to the Room of Requirement and ask for a room that fit the needs of the box." Harry nodded.

"It was good to see you Remus." The wolf looked for any trace of a smile, but there was still none, and he sighed.

"You, too, pup. Stay safe tomorrow." Harry looked at the aging man and realized he was staring at his last living father figure, and he hugged the man.

"I love you, Remus. Thank you for everything." And although Harry thought he had no tears left to cry, his body had other ideas, and he and Remus stood for a few moments before separating.

"It's not good-bye, Harry. We'll see each other again; tomorrow's not it." Harry snorted; how could he possibly know that? But he nodded and waved as he watched Lupin walk out the doors. He knew the man would be there in the Final Battle, but would he make it out?

After a few more minutes, he realized the box was still sitting on the floor and he sighed, picking it up and walking in the direction of the Room of Requirement wondering what on Earth could have been in the blasted box.

**

* * *

**

He was still staring at the letter two hours later.

_Harry J. Potter of 1997,_

_My name is Harry James Potter of 1977, and, oddly enough, I'm older than you, but only by a few days, so don't worry._

_Wow, that was lame. I guess I should actually explain._

_Tomorrow, the Final Battle is going to take place in Hogwarts. People will die, mostly Death Eaters, but a few of ours will as well. Ron, Hermione, and Remus will be fine; don't worry. I know you're going to worry regardless. I know you have no idea how to defeat Voldemort, and I know you don't have the Horcruxes. I also know you don't know which soul separation spell to use on the part of Voldemort's soul inside of you._

_I know all of this because I am you._

_I cannot tell you how it happens or you might try to change it, but you end up returning to 1977 after the Final Battle, which you will win._

_I can only tell you a few things._

_One: the soul separation spell is actually a potion designed to fake death. Voldemort's soul will be confused and think you are dead, so when you wake up, only your soul will be left. Severus Snape brewed this potion; it is fully genuine. A spell on a living object, such as yourself, would kill the living object._

_Two: Nagini is the only Horcrux left. In your second year, you destroyed the diary. In your sixth year, Dumbledore destroyed the ring. In this box, deactivated and harmless, are Ravenclaw's diadem, Hufflepuff's chalice, and Slytherin's locket. I found them and performed a soul separation spell on all three. The spell is _Enervate Soulio Origianalé. _Basically, revive the original soul; Lily tried to explain it to me, but quite frankly, everything she says goes right over my head. Cast on Nagini, this spell will leave Voldemort wide open to the final battle, but beware…you will encounter the snake first. The death of her will call him to the final battle, so be ready right away._

_Three: When you time travel, you will be allowed to decide what you do and do not tell except for a few things; you cannot tell your parents, Sirius, or Dumbledore they die. You cannot find Gaunt's ring so Dumbledore does not; you _must _find the others and deactivate them, then give the box to Remus as I did. You cannot tell Snape he becomes a Death Eater; he is not one yet and he must become one. You cannot tell anyone of Wormtail's deception. And you cannot fight Voldemort._

_Feel free to take a few swings at Lucius Malfoy, though. I've taken a fair few; felt bloody fantastic!_

_One more thing; save this letter and put it in the box you give Remus when you go back. It's been used countless times in this safe fashion and I don't think you want to rewrite all this information._

_Have fun in the past and good luck in the final battle. Don't get cocky just because you know you'll win or you _won't_ win. Fight as though you didn't know anything about the future._

_Sincerely,_

_Harry James Potter, 1977_

If he was to accept everything his future (or past) self wrote, then he was going to defeat Voldemort. He was going to survive. He was going to get sent back to meet his parents.

What a load of bullshit.

Well, maybe not totally; there _were_ three Horcruxes and a phial sitting in the box.

Attached to the phial was a note in handwriting that could only be Snape's.

_Yes, you insufferable Gryffindor, I did make this potion. Drink it or we're all doomed._

That was all it took. He drank down the neon green liquid, shuddering at the horrible taste before it slipped from his hand. He was asleep before his head hit the cold stone.

**

* * *

**

When he awoke, it was in the Hospital Wing with Hermione and Ron looking at him worriedly.

"Ugh, how long was I out?" His head hurt and he realized he should have sat somewhere where we wouldn't get a concussion from falling asleep.

"About forty-five minutes since we found you," Hermione said, relieved he finally had woken up. "Slughorn said there were enough drops of the potion in the phial next to you to tell him what it was, so we knew you weren't dead, but why'd you take a Drought of the Living Death, Harry?" If he didn't know any better, he'd think they thought he was suicidal.

Inwardly, he snorted. Fat chance of that happening. Not with tomorrow.

"I was advised to take it by someone higher up on the Order food chain; they said it would help with tomorrow." With a depressed feeling, he realized this was the most he'd spoken to either Ron or Hermione at one time since Dumbledore. How must they have felt with him ignoring them?

Noticing they still didn't look convinced he rolled his eyes and remembered why he didn't talk to them anymore. They were always worried about him hurting himself, endangering the world. Like they knew who he was.

The thought stopped him short. He didn't even know who he was, so how could they?

The future Harry seemed to know himself rather well, though. Even on paper, he sounded cool, confident, and in control. He seemed sure of himself, like there was no question of who he was. He hoped, if he really did get sent back, he could figure out what got him to change. It would make everything so much easier.

But nothing was ever easy for the great and mighty Boy-Who-Lived Harry Potter.

**

* * *

**

The day of the battle was nothing like he thought it would be. Weather-wise anyways; the panic was palpable and everyone was a nervous wreck, just as he'd predicted.

The first through fourth years had been evacuated to their common rooms and the passwords had been changed so no one could get in or out except teachers or Order Members. Even if there was a traitor among the students, they could not get in to harm the students.

The depression and panic just didn't fit the seventy-five-and-sunny weather outside, mimicked by the Great Hall ceiling, but Harry wasn't fooled by the outside. Soon, the bright sky would be alight with hexes, spells, and flashes of color, mostly green.

The thought made him sick, but he concentrated on what he needed to do; find Nagini.

Standing on the Heads' table, he addressed the Great Hall.

"Listen to me, now! Today, Voldemort and his followers will be attacking Hogwarts. Those you see around you are the brave who are left to defend her halls. Those you do not see are either too young to fight or have switched sides, something that cannot be helped. I am sorry you are all being forced to grow up faster than you wanted, but it's time for you to realize this is war, and, today, it ends." He looked at the sea of faces, staring him back, some fearful, some pulled in by the power of his words, some standing indifferent.

"When the attack begins, the first wave will most likely be junior Death Eaters, people your age. Do not be fooled; Voldemort has taught them as well as his fully trained Death Eaters. Do not hesitate against them, for they will not do so against you. The second wave will be Death Eaters and Dementors. Seventh years and teachers," those addressed snapped their heads to look at him, "we will need your Patronus skills to fend off the Dementors."

"There will be no third wave. While you are fighting the Death Eaters, I will be seeking Voldemort. If you see him, shoot a jet of red, yellow, green, and blue sparks into the air if you can do so without being harmed. More importantly, if you see a large snake, do the same, adding a purple spark. The quicker I find either, the quicker everything is over.

"I'm not going to pretend this battle will be easy. I'm not going to promise a few of you won' t die. I'm not going to promise to be your savior. I'm going to promise to fight as hard as every one of you. I'm going to promise that no one will have to face Voldemort but me. I'm going to promise you that if we win, we win, but if we lose, it won't be because we weren't strong enough.

"It won't be because we gave up!" He surprised himself with the strength in his voice, and the crowd surprised him with their passion as they returned his with equal strength, each person with more heart than all the Death Eaters put together.

"Then let's show them what happens when you challenge Hogwarts."

**

* * *

**

For the thousandth time that day, Harry cursed the sun and its misleading happiness. In a battle where smoke and rotting flesh were not only the primary smells, but sights as well, there should not be a happy little sun tucked behind a puffy white cloud.

A jet of green light whizzed by his right ear, and, not for the first time, Harry praised Merlin for his invisibility cloak. Now why couldn't Merlin just show him where the hell the goddamn snake was?

The battle had begun a mere five hours ago, but the sweat and grime that caked him as he weaved between fighters felt days old. Silently, he cast immobilization spells infused with his magical signature on Death Eaters; only he could remove the spell without killing the wretched snakes, and he was in no mood to do so.

Colored sparks shot every which way, some a disarming red, many a murderous green, but none infused with the four main house colors; the signal for Voldemort. Harry knew, from his future self's letter, that he would not see those sparks until he saw the signal for Nagini, but he had been thus far unsuccessful in locating those as well.

"Figures he wants to make this as bloody difficult as possible," the Boy-Who-Lived muttered. "_Accio Nagini._" For a few brief moments, nothing happened. A few minutes later, still nothing happened.

"Of course," he hissed sarcastically. "That would have been too ruddy easy." He trudged through fallen bodies, casting charms and hexes every so often as he searched for the oversized serpent.

An odd sound reached his ears during the search. A high-pitched hissing accompanied by screams of terror. Throughout the battle, he had heard screams of pain and screams for help, but these sounded different.

When he looked up, he realized why; most people would be terrified to see an eight foot snake flying through the air.

_Releasssse me!_ The snake was indignant at being put through such a degrading ordeal.

Harry shook his head at the request.

"I'm sorry, but I can't do that. Enervate soulio origianalé!" A sound far more disturbing than any he had heard on the battlefield reached his ears, and he cried in pain as the snake burned in the white light engulfing it. Harry was suddenly reminded of Riddle's disappearance in the Chamber during second year; a bright white light, screams, then nothing. Smoke curled from her body and, from tip to tail, she slowly disintegrated into hot, white ash.

Multiple sparks were shot into the air from one area of the battlefield; Voldemort had noticed his missing pet.

"_Harry Potter, you die today!"_

Through the Forbidden Forest, a dark figure seemingly glided over fallen bodies, lost wands, and dead creatures. Any unfortunate enough to be in the path was thrown aside by a flick of the pale, ashy hand that emerged from the black robes.

As much as he hated the wizard, Harry couldn't help but wonder if he wasn't dead because of Voldemort's idiocy, vanity, or because of the fact that, somewhere, the dark wizard still believed a duel should be fought properly; he was banking on the second.

After all, a simple killing curse from behind the trees would have ended it, sure as anything, but Harry knew Voldemort would want to rattle off a few useless facts, gloat a bit, force a proper duel, and then do nothing but cheat.

Which was why Harry always escaped.

"Voldemort; looking pale as ever I see." Brilliantly, Harry was already cracking jokes at the madman.

"Potter; acting rashly as ever I see," said madman retorted. Touché. Apparently, one of his cronies had stolen him a sense of humor, because he couldn't have picked it up on his own.

Mentally, he shook his head; he was losing focus. Rather than focusing on how to kill the pale, ashy bringer of doom in front of him, he was wondering why he wasn't dead, cracking jokes, and now, making up nicknames for the crackpot.

He was getting cocky, and he was going to get himself killed.

"Not going to be giving up, are we Tom?"

"You seem to be laboring under the misapprehension that this is the time for idle chatter, Potter. Every time I've allowed myself to be lured into such meaningless tirades, you somehow end up escaping. Today, we bow and begin." The man bowed no lower than an inch.

"As you wish, Riddle. I'm not heartless enough to deny a man his last request," Harry countered, bowing, but keeping his eyes up, should Voldemort start the battle cheating. "Even if he can hardly be considered a man…"

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Expelliarmus!"

The two spells hit each other in a flash of gold before disintegrating.

"You aren't so naïve to believe I would keep my old wand, are you, Potter? What good is a wand you can't kill with? No, this piece of work is enough to finish you off, I daresay."

"I hardly thought you'd keep that wand, Riddle. Why do you think I asked Olivander for a new one? Didn't want you going around and snapping mine!" The man looked outraged.

"You can't have two wands, Potter! Your magical stores would be split; you'd be dead!"

"Not if my magical stores are big enough to support two wands, which Dumbledore's portrait assured me they were, make no mistake. And once I finish you, I can snap this wand and return all my magic to my old wand. Are we done? Can I kill you yet?"

"Insolent whelp!"

"Careful," Harry teased. "You're starting to sound like Snape!" Using the Legilimancy skills Snape's memories had given him and the added strength of the bond, Harry tapped far enough into Voldemort's mind to detect his next spells in order to block them; the dark wizard didn't notice because he was too busy being lured into a verbal sparring match.

"Enough! Now, Potter, you--…"

"Die! Avada Kedavra!" Wand raised, the Dark Lord Voldemort froze, eyes locked in a menacing glare at the only wizard who could ever defeat him…and had.

Slow, precious moments passed, and as Voldemort hit the emerald grass of the Hogwarts grounds, Death Eaters and junior Death Eaters alike dropped their wands to clutch their burning forearms. Unlike seventeen years ago, when Voldemort had merely vanished, Harry had managed to eliminate the Dark Lord, which meant the marks he had branded on his followers were disappearing, but not before burning the flesh on which they had rested, leaving them scarred for life. Or however long the Ministry allowed them to live.

The Order and the students used this to their advantage and spellbound the pained fighters, eliminating the last of the resistance.

Healers were levitating injured Light fighters onto stretchers and floating them to the castle where they would floo to St. Mungo's.

And Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Defeat-Voldemort, snapped the wand in his hands, feeling the rush of magic flow from him to his true wand, hidden in the back pocket of his muggle jeans. Looking out on the battlefield, he realized they had won, just as future him had known all along. The Weasleys, minus Percy, found each other and looked relieved as Hermione and Fleur joined the mix; the happy family was safe. Other families and friends reunited; some found their lost loved ones where they had fallen in combat, but all knew they had died fighting in what they believed in.

And as he felt his eyes close and his knees buckle, the world around him going black, he knew that all was well.

* * *

**VampireAlchemist**: Well that was certainly an adventure!

**Wicked Witch of the West:** I thought you said drabbles weren't starting for awhile!

**VampireAlchemist:** That was before I remembered how much fun they are to write and what are you doing here? You have no relevance!

**Wicked Witch of the West:** I'm here to make sure Voldemort gets a proper funeral; we villains have to stick together!

**VampireAlchemist:** Fine; the funeral can happen during the next chapter's drabble, how's that?

**Voldemort:** Very nice, thank you.

**VampireAlchemist: **Oh, hell no! You're dead!

**Voldemort:** Thanks to you!

**Wicked Witch of the West:** At least yours was painless and somewhat dignified! I had to scream, _"I'm melting, I'm melting!"_ It bloody burned and I couldn't even scream ouch!

**VampireAlchemist:** Oh shut up, the pair of you before I bite you! Voldemort, go back on the battlefield and li'l Miss Witch...there's a nice little lake next to Hogwarts; go for a swim why don't you?

**Both:** Please Review!


	3. Chapter Two: Not In Kansas Anymore

**A/N:** Wow, not having internet or creativity sucks! It always seems like when you have the internet, the words won't flow, but once they flow, you're somewhere without internet! It's taken a while to update, but finally, here it is...CHAPTER TWO!

A warning I'm sure you've already picked up on...this story is not priority number one...Colors of the Wind, my DracoxHermione story is. Once it's finished, I'm not sure if this or 'Of Wicked Spells and Revelations' will take priority, but I promise they will all get done eventually!

Still...enjoy!

Oh, and I just realized I didn't put a disclaimer in or anything, so here it is: I don't own anything related to Harry Potter. The plotline is mine...that is all.

* * *

**Chapter Two: Not In Kansas Anymore**

* * *

"Don't wake him up!" The bright lights and horribly attempted hushed voices drew Harry from his comfortable sleep; how did none of them ever realize he wouldn't wake up if they were never in the room to begin with?

"Oi, he's twitching!" Ron's voice suddenly rose by a few levels, and Harry fought not to reach out and smack him on the head. _Of course I'm twitching; you're loud and I'm waking up!_ His thoughts, unnecessarily hostile, broke through the dense haze that accompanied the very obvious aftertaste of a sleeping draught; Madame Pomfrey had thought to give him a dose while he was sleeping obviously.

"Oh, shut up, Ron! You're all so loud, so of course he's waking up!" Harry groaned, struggling to push himself upright.

"You're loud, too, Hermione." The room suddenly went quiet as Harry forced his sleep-crusted eyes open and surveyed the occupants of the room. "How long?" Everyone knew what he meant, but no one seemed willing to offer information of any sort. Finally, Hermione came forward.

"About five days." Harry nodded; so he had only missed five days of classes. Of course, he had no reason to care, considering the one thing he had ever had to do was already finished; what was there for him to do now?

He had always seen himself dying during the final battle, having to sacrifice himself. He didn't think he'd be able to pull off that final killing curse. Suddenly, Harry knew what everyone was so anxious about, what they were waiting for him to ask.

"Who?" Harry was fairly certain he could hear a speck of _dust_ drop from the air with the sudden stillness that overcame them.

Hermione, once again, was delegated to tell Harry the news.

"Luna Lovegood, Cho Chang, Neville Longbottom." Her breath hitched with every name, and Harry fought to keep his face neutral, despite his intense need to spill tears he didn't think he had. "And all the Death Eaters." Suddenly, an enormous feeling of rage pooled in him.

"The Order killed them? What happened to fair trials?" _What happened to Severus_, he asked himself.

"We didn't kill them Harry," Hermione sniffed, but she seemed to regret her haughty tone mere seconds later.

"You did, mate." Ron received a look from Hermione for his crass tone, but Harry didn't notice.

"I didn't! I passed out right after I killed Voldemort!" Flinches still went around the room at the name, and Harry suppressed the urge to smack them all upside the head.

"Exactly, Harry. The Death Eaters were bonded to Voldemort. It's very similar to a soul-bond that wizards use for marriage." Hermione had begun rambling in her know-it-all tone, but, for once, Harry was listening with rapt interest. "In a soul bind, two people are bound to each other for life; if one dies, the other dies. Voldemort did not bind himself, but he forced the others to bind to him."

"Harry, by killing him, you killed them all." Ron received yet another look; the boy was far too blunt for his own good.

"No, Ron." Remus stepped forward from his corner; the full moon must have happened during the five days he had been asleep, for Remus looked like death warmed over. "Voldemort killed them, they killed themselves by bonding to him, but Harry most certainly did not kill them." Ron, at least, had the decency to look abashed, but it did not help Harry.

"What about Severus?"

"Snape? Looks like you got your revenge after all, Harry," Ron laughed, not noticing Harry's crestfallen face.

"He was innocent." Those three words stopped the entire room cold once more. "He gave me his memory, not tampered with, of Dumbledore requesting for him to do the job Voldemort gave Draco so that Draco would not be marked as a guilty man." Realization flooded him.

"Is Draco dead, too?" All the sacrifice would have been for nothing.

"No, Harry, I'm not." The entire room looked surprised to see the blonde step out from underneath an Invisibility Cloak. "I was marked as a Junior Death Eater. I have not come of age yet, so I can't legally make a soul binding oath, and the spell did not complete. My mark vanished."

Hermione seemed to be holding Ron back, and Remus was looking at the boy distrustfully, though Harry thought that was more rather because of his likeness to a certain Lucius Malfoy, but Harry simply nodded.

"I am glad you're safe, Malfoy." He reverted back to old names; they weren't friends, but allies that had battled on the same side for a common purpose.

"Thank you for trying to save my godfather, Potter." The blonde seemed to understand Harry's wish to be distanced, so he said what was necessary and turned to leave. "I think he would have wanted you to know that when the battle began, he was fighting on your side; the first curse he fired was at Lucius." Harry nodded; of course the man was loyal to Dumbledore's cause to the very end.

He nodded, and Malfoy left, tucking the silver cloak into his schoolbag as he left. The rest of the room was awestruck at the exchange the two of them shared, but said nothing. It was Hermione, once more, who broke the silence.

"Madame Pomfrey says you can leave today as long as you come back and see her once before you go to bed." It was obvious the girl was trying very hard not to stutter. It wasn't every day two people thought to have hated each other had a completely civil conversation.

But Harry Potter never did anything expected.

"Thanks, Hermione. How much homework have I missed?"

"That's the great part, mate! McGonagall decided to suspend classes for two weeks!" Hermione didn't think this was so great, apparently. "Everyone had to go home and see loved ones, people wanted time to hold their funerals—they can do them a lot faster in the wizarding world than in the muggle one, what with owls and apparation and such—and she didn't want them to miss classes, though I think it was more for you."

"That, Mister Weasley, is why Miss Granger is passing her exams and you are not," a stern voice said crossly behind him. "Now I think the two of you have something you need to be doing?" It was absolutely unsettling how that woman managed to simply appear whenever Ron began talking about her.

Hermione, to her credit, realized something important was about to happen and, grabbing the collar of a protesting Weasley, proceeded to remove both of them from the room. McGonagall waited until they were both gone to turn her spectacled gaze on him.

"Mister Potter…"

"Headmistress," his voice hitched slightly as it always did when calling her such, "I'm not feeling up to talking right now. It still reminds me of…" He didn't need to finish his sentence. Whenever Harry woke up at the end of the year in the Hospital Wing, it was always Albus Dumbledore that would be smiling at him, giving him a pep talk about why the fight needed to go on, about how brave and self-sacrificing he was.

No matter what her title was, Minerva McGonagall would never be able to fill Albus Dumbledore's shoes.

She seemed to understand this, because she nodded politely and walked to the doorway.

"As your friends have informed you, Mister Potter, classes resume in nine days time." He nodded; two weeks from Halloween. "Remus, I believe you and Harry have much to discuss?" That was it? He had expected the stern woman to push a little harder than that.

But as he looked to the graying man, seated in the corner, he realized McGonagall had not been to see him for any other reason than to ensure that Remus Lupin told Harry exactly what it was he was supposed to without backing out, as it seemed the man was very close to doing.

So Harry didn't give him the chance.

"Well, Remus? Seemed to me the other day," not quite the other day, he reminded himself, "that you knew a bit more than you let on. Care to elaborate?" He could tell very well that Remus did _not_ care to share, but it was becoming apparently clear to him that, with both McGonagall and Harry forcing his hand, he would soon have no chance or choice.

"Forgive an old man, Harry, but I have kept some things from you that I should or should not have told you due to a promise I made to a very dear friend of mine." Harry snorted.

"You're not old, Remus; I'd say forty is aging, but certainly not old. And apparently that promise has been upheld or doesn't matter anymore, because you're about to tell me everything." The defeated look on Remus' face told him everything.

"Well, for starters, Harry, you're not named after your grandfather—there is no Henry Potter. In fact, your grandfathers' names are Christopher Potter and Edward Evans." What would his name have to do with anything; this couldn't be what was putting Remus through so much stress.

"This isn't the big secret, Harry." The man always seemed to know what he was thinking. "There really is no secret anymore since you know that, sometime soon, you will be sent back to the year 1977. I am here because, with your father, Sirius, and Albus no longer able to tell you and Peter, were he still alive, not able to be trusted, it falls to me to explain the rules before you're sent back." Which was when exactly?

"I don't know when you're getting sent back, Harry, but you arrived in my time on Friday, November 13." There it was again, that annoying ability to read his mind.

"The rules as I'm sure you've been told by…yourself…are crystal-clear and iron-clad. You cannot tell anyone you know will die the fate that will befall them or do anything to change the course of history. In fact, my recommendation would be to give an alias whilst you are back and tell only a precious few your true identity." Here, he looked to Harry with a hard gaze.

"Those few cannot include Peter or Severus, no matter how trustworthy one of them may seem in either time. In our seventh year, Severus was a ruthless Death Eater in training and he would turn you in without a second thought." Harry understood the concern; he was truly saddened by Severus' death. He had hoped they would become such great friends, but the possibility had been eradicated in moments—the moments it had taken for Severus to join the Death Eaters or the moments it had taken for Harry to speak the Killing Curse at Voldemort.

"What did I call myself in your seventh year?" Remus smiled.

"If I told you, you might not remember it yourself. You'll remember a name you come up with much better. Perhaps," Harry started at the misty yet pensive look Remus gave him. "Perhaps you'll find you aren't Harry after all." These words confused the Gryffindor thoroughly.

Of course he was Harry! He was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived-In-The-Cupboard-Under-The-Stairs, a powerful wizard who had amazing friends—friends he barely spoke to anymore, but difference did it make? Harry Potter was the savior for the Wizarding world, a friend of muggleborns, a hater of prejudice, a world-class seeker, and a constant source of Light.

But all that was Harry Potter.

Who was Harry?

Harry was an abused orphan who escaped once a year to a magical retreat where he could be Harry Potter before returning once more to do chores, be beaten, and pray for the reprieve of school to come sooner than it should.

He found he didn't much care for either of them, Harry or Harry Potter.

"Remus, who am I?" The aging man looked him in his emerald eyes and smiled.

"That, Harry, is for you to discover. Do not waste a gift from Hogwarts by not attempting to complete a task she sets for you."

He wondered, as he fell asleep, what Remus had meant by 'a gift from Hogwarts,' but he was far too overjoyed that, for once, there would be no need to occlude his mind as his awareness blissfully left him to dream his own dreams—whatever they may be.

* * *

When he woke up, he had the sense that something just wasn't right.

There were more hospital beds when he went to sleep, he was sure—he had had the room memorized from his many visits since his third year—and the decorations were different, more colorful than he remembered. Not to mention the fact that the Mediwitch that bustled to and fro, short and stocky with blonde hair mixed with gray streaks, was most certainly not Madame Pomfrey.

"Excuse me, but where am I?" The stout woman suddenly stopped her movement in a jerky fashion, holding her hand over her heart.

"Sweet Merlin, boy, how did you manage to get in that bed without me noticing?" A good question—one he wanted an answer to as well.

"Ma'am, if you could tell me where I am?" The woman gave him the once over to ensure that he was injury free before answering him carefully.

"You are in the Hogwarts Infirmary. I am Madame Hepfurt, the current mediwitch. What, may I ask, is your name?" Harry had passed out long before she made it to her question.

* * *

When he woke up this time, the bright lights caused him to keep his eyes closed. His ears, however, were wide open to the conversation around him.

"He simply appeared, Headmaster." Headmaster? What could have happened? Minerva McGonagall could hardly be classified as a Headmaster after all.

"Do not fear, my dear." A familiar chuckle reached Harry's ears and he stopped cold—his mind was playing tricks on him—but he could have sworn that was Albus Dumbledore. "We shall soon learn this young one's intents and purposes for being within the school."

"He's not a Death Eater, Albus—I checked his arm—and he's been here far longer than an hour, so it's most assuredly not Polyjuice. He truly is a seventeen-year-old child." Hardly a child, he thought to himself. When had he ever been a child?

Still, he thought to himself, something must be seriously wrong. Remus had said he appeared in 1977 on Friday the Thirteenth in November; he was early by about six days, assuming it really was November 7, 1977.

The only way he would know for sure would be to announce his alertness, but another matter, equally pressing, presented itself; Albus Dumbledore would most assuredly ask his name and purpose.

Remus had never said he couldn't say anything about being a time traveler; why did they need to know if he came from the past, future, or how far in either direction? Saying he was from the future would be the easiest—his style of dress already suggested as much—and would it be too hard to say a few more than he really was? Sirius, Albus, and, more dangerously, Severus and Peter, would never think to look for him in a few short years; they would not expect him for quite awhile.

But for a name? Remus had said he would have to come up with it, something he could remember, but what could he see himself being called as?

Draco was easy enough to remember, but there were too many bad memories associated.

So was Ron, but he would constantly be reminded of not being able to see his red-headed friend every time someone was calling for him. This logic ruled out any name shared by the Weasley clan.

He couldn't pick the names of anyone here, such as Sirius or James, and he would not be called Harry, but he wanted some connection to his family. Sure, he could tell Lily, James, Sirius, and, obviously, Remus who he was, but everyone else had to call him something.

Suddenly, he realized Remus had already told him what his name was, and, armed with all the knowledge he thought he would need, he faked his awakening, putting a hand to his head and squinting his eyes closed against the light he had long ago grown accustomed to.

"Ugh, my head. Where am…P-professor Dumbledore?" He faked astonishment at seeing the old Headmaster, slightly younger than he was twenty years later—obviously—though it took everything in him not to cry. Apparently, he was faking it well enough, because the old man looked truly floored that a teenager he had never seen—a stranger—knew him so familiarly; everyone referred to him as Headmaster, even the teachers, unless addressing him by Albus.

"My boy, how do you know me?" He would have to be a damn good actor to get through this, he realized. Glancing to the blonde at the left, he decided to change his tactics. Maybe lying would not give him the best advantage in this particular situation—it was Albus Dumbledore he was dealing with, after all.

"Professor, would you mind if she stepped outside for a bit? This isn't something I can trust a complete stranger with." Both adults looked confused—as far as either of them knew, Albus Dumbledore was as much a stranger as the old mediwitch—but a look from Albus caused the woman to grumble something about checking potion stores.

After placing a silencing charm, Dumbledore returned his gaze to Harry, searching for any traces of deception.

"Professor, my name is Harry Potter. I have been sent back in time, by who or what, I do not know, but I do know that only you and a select few people can know that I do not truly belong here or know what my true name is. Those select few people only I will decide; you may not tell any of your colleagues or, be assured, I am very apt at the Obliviation Charm." Harry never thought he would talk to his most respected Professor that way, especially not after he died.

For his part, the Headmaster did look truly floored. Apparently, the possibility of time travel had crossed his mind, but had not been a top-of-the-list reason for the unexplained teenager sitting cross-legged on the hospital cot, staring at him, willing him to believe the story.

"I-I see, Mister Potter. You do realize we have another Potter here in this time?" So Dumbledore was already trying to decipher how far in the future he came from.

"I do—a James Potter. We are related, though I will not tell you how. He could be my grandfather, father, uncle, or anything else; I cannot reveal to you how far I come from." Though he was fairly sure the likeness he shared with his father and his hopefully soon-to-be friendship with both him and his mother were going to be dead giveaways, he had to keep the old man guessing; at least, for a little while.

"Very well, Mister Potter. What shall I introduce you to the school as?" He knew the old man was not likely to give up, but he would get nothing from Harry's own mouth without his say-so.

Harry smiled at the Headmaster that now understood he was playing by Harry's rules—for now.

"I guess the only reasonable explanation for me is that I am a time traveler," he sighed, unable to come up with any better reason. "But my name…introduce me as Christopher Edwards."

"I assume you will need to shop for your schooling necessities?" Harry briefly noted his wand was in the pocket of his robes along with the letter he now carried with him at all times. He realized, though, that any books relating to subjects he would be taking in this time would probably not have been written yet or revised to his time's standards.

"All my money and material items were left in my time, Headmaster. I have no way to pay for my school supplies." He never thought money would be an issue for him.

"It is no problem at all, dear boy. Hogwarts has sufficient funds to provide for you for a single year," Dumbledore said, waving his hand merrily. "I will procure the necessary amount for you to complete your shopping. Ah, do you have your wand? Good, good. Now, what classes were you taking in your time?" Harry ran through a mental checklist.

"Advanced Potions, DADA, Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, and Ancient Runes for Beginners." It was a new interest, he defended mentally, though to who, he didn't know. Dumbledore looked positively floored; there were a select few students who could take any of those classes, much less all, except one.

"Dear boy, what exactly is the ancient runes class?"

"Apparently too new for this time," Harry lamented. He had so been looking forward to taking the course; Hermione had gotten him hooked on them back when they actually talked about things other than the end of Harry's life as he knew it.

"Well, Mister Edwards," Harry smiled at Dumbledore's usage of his alias, "seventh year students here only take five courses with the addition of two free periods and two NEWT-prep study periods, so you have the required amount of classes without me having to assign any." Harry briefly wondered who the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was in this time and if he lasted longer than a year.

"I'll send Professor McGonagall with you to acquire your school supplies tomorrow; when would you like to come out to the school?" Harry did the mental calculations and decided he would have to find something to do with himself for the next few days if history was to remain the same.

"Next Friday, we'll make the announcement, Headmaster."

"A full week to assimilate into a school you previously attended? That seems like a bit much, Mister Edwards."

"True, but it's necessary. Just understand it is the way it needs to be, Headmaster."

"Very well. I will give you your schedule when we introduce and sort you next week Friday. I'll leave you to gain some sleep now, Mister Edwards."

"Good-bye, Headmaster."

* * *

One Disillusionment charm later, Harry was strolling through the halls at ease, simply happy to see that everything was as usual. Except—

"Skipping class, Black? Tsk, tsk…" The thin, lanky man Harry recognized as the seventeen-year-old version of his godfather simply smirked at the disgusting figure he knew as Lucius Malfoy. It was eerie how similar the man looked to his son—or was it the other way around?

"You're skipping, too, Malfoy. And what's this? No lackey's to back you up?" The platinum blonde simply crossed his arms.

"Just wait, Black. You'll get yours for dishonoring your Pureblood name. You and your dirty, traitorous hide…" The elder Malfoy was blown back on his back with a jet from Harry's direction. Sirius was startled, checking his pocket for his wand to ensure that it wasn't' he who had blown the blonde on his butt.

Tucking his wand away, he chuckled, hoping Sirius had enough intelligence to get out before Malfoy came around. He doubted it sincerely.

Other than that, his trek through the castle was extremely uneventful. He located his mother in Advanced Charms, his father, Remus, and Peter in free period, and Lucius Malfoy limping towards the Infirmary; it seemed Sirius had felt the need to get his own hits in before leaving the blonde to go his own way.

The Headmaster had provided him with a room for the next week, which was to be emptied and sealed after he was sorted to ensure he didn't bring any of his new friends in.

"_Harry Potter_." He figured since no one knew his name here, it was the least likely thing to be guessed.

The room was nice enough. Of course, since he wasn't exactly an honored guest, and he was only staying a week, they were sparsely decorated and neutral in color, but they still gave off an air of Hogwarts that made him feel very at home.

As he changed into a Hogwarts-spare pair of pajamas and slipped under his covers, he wondered what it would be like to go to school with his parents. Would he be able to handle seeing their faces again? What about Sirius? He wondered what Remus would be like as a younger, more-carefree (as a werewolf, he was never carefree) student. And would he be able to handle seeing Peter?

Of course, the man was dead now, as were Lucius and Severus, but he was still the reason his parents were dead.

And Severus…how could time have been so cruel? He could not be friends with the man in this time and he was dead in Harry's time. It was a horrible crime, and he wondered how he would handle seeing everyone.

And still yet, that one question: how had he ended up here?

* * *

"Where is Harry? He's not in his bed!" Ron was freaking out in the Hospital Wing, rampaging, with his temper as red as his hair.

"Ron, hush up already!" Hermione was irate; not only was her best friend missing, but her boyfriend was not toning down the volume and she was starting to get a headache. "Remus, do you know where Harry is?" The werewolf, medi-witch, and Headmistress shared an uneasy look; dare they tell the two where their best friend was?

Nothing they did could affect Harry or where he was, but would knowing make it any easier? They decided that yes, yes it would.

"Harry is back in my seventh year," Remus said slowly. "Hogwarts sent him back."

"What do you bloody mean the bloody castle sent him back in bloody time?" Ron, of course, had taken the easy way out—easy for him anyways—and was currently swearing up a storm, much to the disapproval of a certain Headmistress who was shooting him glares that could rival Severus Snape.

Hermione, on the other hand, was simply sitting in silence. There had only been one recorded incident of this happening, and that was the only one recorded. Hogwarts was, after all, the combined effort of four of the most powerful witches and wizards in history; she definitely had the power. But could a building have consciousness?

A look at haunted houses and other phenomena concluded, to her at least, that yes, yes they could.

"Will he be coming back?" Though her question was whispered, it was louder than any of Ron's ramblings.

"I know he left our time," Remus sighed. "Where he went after that graduation day, none of us knew."

"Us?" Ron seemed to have finally calmed down enough to handle speaking in coherent sentences, and, to McGonagall's pleasure, without swearing.

"Yes, us. Don't forget: the Marauder's were all alive, well, and kicking in 1977." A wistful look filled the werewolf's eyes, and both Gryffindors realized he was reminiscing about a time when he had been happy; neither wanted to intrude, so they turned to the Headmistress.

"Professor, were you still the Transfiguration teacher?" The stern woman nodded.

"Albus informed none of us until after Harry's first year here, and he told only myself, Filius, and Severus; people who were either students or teaching when Mister Potter arrived. I believe the news threw Severus for a loop; I knew it to be true the moment I laid eyes on the boy, though I didn't quite remember him. It had been twenty years, after all," she defended, trying to justify her slipping memory.

"So, basically…"

"We have to wait," Ron finished simply. Now that he had calmed down, he seemed to have a full grasp on the situation—not entirely common.

"I do know," Remus said, breaking from his trance, "that Harry's second semester was rather eventful; he spent it tracing down the remaining Horcruxes so the 1997 Harry wouldn't have to." Judging from his knowing look, he had already guessed his words of time travels and paradoxes would confuse the two, though Hermione looked slightly on top of things.

"So we wait."

"And so we wait." Hermione and Ron looked at each other; it was going to be a slow year.

* * *

"I am not in Kansas anymore," Harry muttered to himself, stifling a laugh as yet another odd-outfitted woman strode by; he had known the seventies and eighties were a time of fashion crisis for the muggle world, but surely the magical community had some sense?

The woman in multi-colored robes wordlessly informed him that no, they did not.

Still, he forged through with the Transfiguration teacher at his side. He already had his wand and he refused to replace Hedwig, so that only left…every other shop in Diagon Alley.

After a quick stop to Flourish and Blotts—relieved to see they still had copies of the books he would need—he stopped at the Cauldron shop, Apothecary, Quality Quidditch Supplies (for some reading material, of course), and Florean Fortescue's. It took him an hour longer than he'd hoped, but he had to be cautious and precise when picking potion ingredients; Advanced Potions potions could go very wrong when any sort of mistake was made, and he was not looking forward to being on Slughorn's bad side.

Although Snape was far scarier, he mused.

Still, he was pleased to fall back into the neutral, dullness of his room after a full day of shopping; how could something so—normally—fun be so exhausting? And yet, the monotony and boringness of being stuck in his room with nothing to do but stare at the walls was far more exhausting than fighting the Dark Lord; and that had knocked him out for five days straight!

He picked at his house-elf-delivered dinner and picked his mind for something to do before settling on visiting the Room of Requirement for a bit of training; Voldemort was defeated in his time, but here, Death Eaters and Malfoy still posed a dueling threat. It was important to stay in tip-top shape.

A Disillusionment charm later, he was strolling past random students hurrying back to their dorms, completely inconspicuous.

_Disillusionment is so boring,_ he thought. _Why don't they call it a Notice-Me-Not spell or Be Gone Charm. All the cool charms are so dull._

Then he smacked himself for being so stupid. He was twenty years back in time, sneaking through Hogwarts, and he was thinking about charm names? Maybe he was delusional!

_I need a place to practice dueling. I need a place to practice dueling. I need a place to practice dueling!_ Sometimes, repeating yourself over and over—even if it was to you—got real annoying.

But as he opened the door and watched as it faded away once he closed it, he couldn't help but think it was totally worth it. After all, just look at what this room provided!

A closet with a boggart, tucked in the corner with shelves of books—should he get bored—to review with. Lines of Death Eater figurines that moved on their own. Mirrors lined every wall so he could see his form and perfect it, though it had been 'perfect' enough to defeat Voldemort, so he didn't see what was wrong.

Smacking himself for sounding so cocky, even in his head, he began firing off curses at the 'hoard' of Death Eaters, thankful for something normal in the last forty-eight hours of time-traveling confusion.

* * *

For the next three days, he repeated the routine: rise early at six, go for a run, eat breakfast, read one of his many books, battle, eat lunch, read some more, battle some more, eat dinner, read, run, battle, shower, bed. He found himself wishing, during those three days, that there had been more days like this in his time—free time to do what he wanted.

He found it odd that he had been conditioned to be a fighter, and yet that was all he wanted.

The Disillusionment, or Notice-Me-Not, Charm that he had only used once or twice in his own time became a routine spell, as natural as the Disarming Spell. It became a habit to cast it before a run, in the halls, and in the shower room.

But he barely noticed when he forgot to place it one day before he went on his run, tired as he was from three, going on four, days of training—though training for what, he couldn't figure out.

So it came as no surprise, due to Harry's Law—like Murphy's Law, but worse—that someone caught him the day he didn't wear the charm. It also came as no surprise that that person was Lily Evans.

"James Potter, what are you doing up at six in the morning? I told you—just because we're dating does not mean you can stalk me at all hours of the night…morning…you know what I mean!" Inwardly, Harry was feeling rather odd; it was rather something, after all, to be yelled at by your mother in a time where she's only older than you by about four months.

But he held his ground surprisingly well against the fiery redhead that reminded him so much of Ginny Weasley…and her mother—here, he suppressed a shiver.

"Sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about." Well, he really did, but he couldn't tell her he was her son from twenty years in the future. He had to gain her trust before he broke _that_ bit of news to her.

"Don't give me that, Mister I'm-Head-Boy. You know I shower early and you were trying to be a peeping Jamie!" Her mother called him Jamie? He smirked, but shoved it back before she could think he was smirking at her; with what she had just said, that would seem a tad perverted.

"I'm really sorry, but I really don't know what you're talking about; I'm not Jamie, or James-whatever-his-name-is. I'm Christopher Edwards." Maybe he shouldn't have given her his name? She could go around telling people now!

"Oh, no! I'm not that dumb! What happened, Jamie? Get a low-blast memory charm sent at you? Messing around with Siri maybe? I swear, you two are going to kill each other experimenting with your powers the way you do!" Lily was still rambling as she stomped away from him, shouting a few odds and ends here and there about Jamie, Siri, and their stupidity—Harry knew firsthand that his godfather had plenty of that to go around.

Maybe he had learned from James? Wouldn't that just be the circle of life? Harry learns from Sirius who learns from James—or Jamie.

Harry laughed, but did manage to remember to tap his head and cast the charm. As he began the first of his five laps around the castle, he realized he had missed having human contact these last few days. McGonagall was the last person he had talked to, and that was hardly considered a conversation.

"_Mister Edwards, I believe that cauldron would be better; it's cheaper and you're only here for a year."_

_"Thank you, Professor."_

Yes, hardly a conversation. Not that being yelled at by his mother was any different, but communicating with your peers is always somehow more satisfying.

Even if you were being yelled at.

As he came around to lap three, he realized the first two had completely flown by, and he wasn't even breaking a sweat. The longest he had been able to do in '97 was four laps, and he was always sweating by that last one.

Of course, he laughed to himself as he began lap four, blood pumping in time with his feet as they connected with the grass, he would build up endurance when he no longer needed it. Although, in this time, perhaps he would need it.

The realization that he was back in a time where the madman still existed caused his blood to run cold and he slowed down on his final lap with just a few yards left. The Whomping Willow, his start-and-end point, stood visible just up ahead, and he jogged towards it.

In this time, he couldn't touch Voldemort, go anywhere near; to do so risked changing history. Still, there would be attacks: he was a soon-to-be-Gryffindor and a time traveler. Nothing would intrigue Voldemort more than someone who could tell him the future with one-hundred-percent accuracy.

So maybe he would need to keep his guard up.

The thought made him push just a little harder to reach the end of his five laps.

_Tempus_, he whispered. The time, 6:45 am, hovered in silver above his wand tip. He woke up at six, and, after his altercation with Lily, finally arrived at the Willow at six-ten. After stretching for ten minutes, he had started at about twenty after, which meant he had completed a five-lap-eight-mile run in just over twenty-five minutes.

He grinned, wiping the small bit of sweat from his forehead—eight in twenty-five was way better than six-and-a-half in the same amount of time.

Proud of himself, he trudged back to the castle. Rather than his rooms, though, he crept past waking students to the kitchens. It was hard to believe the house elves were as busy at seven as they were at dinner, but as he maneuvered around the bat-eared creatures who, he realized, could see through his charm perfectly, he marveled at how hard at work they were, calling to each other for certain things, snapping their fingers to retrieve others.

Suddenly, it dawned on him that neither Dobby nor Winky were elves here. He would not be able to get anything until after breakfast had calmed down, and it was with this knowledge that he dragged himself off to his rooms for a slightly later breakfast than he'd hoped; apparently, he wasn't as used to 1977 as he thought if he was still confusing aspects of it with his time.

Checking the hovering silver smoke above his bedside table that proclaimed the date, he jumped when he read the numbers._ 7:01 am: Thursday, November 12, 1977_.

Tomorrow, he would make his appearance in the Great Hall at breakfast.

As he chewed his house-elf delivered sausage and eggs, he wondered if Lily would realize it was him she had been yelling at, not James. Then he wondered what James would do if he called him Jamie. Perhaps once he knew Harry was his son, he would warm up to it?

The thought caused Harry to nearly choke on his sausage in laughter, but it disappeared when the smoke from his 'clock' circled his head screaming, _breakfast is over! Time to read!_

What a lousy alarm system; even the Muggles had it better!

* * *

**A/N:**_ VampireAlchemist:_ That's all for now folks!

_Malificent:_ We are gathered here today to mourn the loss of a great and powerful villain...a true demon among us all...

_VampireAlchemist:_ Okay, I know I said you could hold the funeral here, but all you villains cannot hop from your stories into mine!

_Captain Hook:_ We're not in your story, we're in your drabble!

_Evil Witch:_ Yeah...*evil cackle*...now let us enjoy the funeral.

_VampireAlchemist:_ First of all, which evil witch are you? There's so many...

_Evil Witch:_ Yes...we are many!!!!

_VampireAlchemist:_ Okay, creepy. Second, you don't enjoy a funeral.

_All:_ We are villains!!

_VampireAlchemist:_ Right...because I totally didn't pick up on that. Third, get out!

_Wicked Witch of the West:_ You promised we could hold the funeral here!

_VampireAlchemist:_ Well, li'l miss witch, I guess, as a vampire, I'm entitled to some evil traits. I'm breaking that promise so get out!

_All: _We shall revolt!

_VampireAlchemist:_ Don't make me call Prince Philip, Peter Pan, the magic fairies/elves/other magical creatures, and the Water Company. I'm sure they're all free...

_All:_ Please Review!

_Lord Voldemort:_ *whimpers* What about my funeral?

_All (including VampireAlchemist):_ GET BACK IN THE CASKET!


End file.
